


To My Brother, Thor, Whom I Slept With

by wrathkitty



Category: Loki - Fandom, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), Thor (Movies), Thor - Fandom
Genre: Asgard (Marvel), Awesome Frigga (Marvel), Bilgesnipe, Brothers, Byrd - Freeform, Canon Divergence - Post-Avengers (2012), Chewing Tobacco, Chickens, Daggers, Dare, Earth, Fire, Forseti, Freudian Elements, Frigga's favorite perfume, God of Pyromania, Great Aunt Snotra, Gungnir, Humor, Kid Loki (Marvel), Kid Loki and Kid Thor (Marvel), Kid Thor (Marvel), Little Brothers, Loki (Marvel) Does What He Wants, Magic, Midgard, Mischief, Moat, NEVERMORE, Odin (Marvel)'s Good Parenting, Originally Posted on FanFiction.Net, Parenthood, Parrots, Perfume, Pole Dancing Loki (Marvel), Post-Thor (2011), Post-Thor: Ragnarok (2017), Post-Thor: The Dark World, Pranks and Practical Jokes, Pre-Avengers (2012), Pre-Thor (2011), Protective Older Brothers, Psychoanalysis, Psychologists & Psychiatrists, Ravens, Ridiculous, Sharks, Sibling Rivalry, Silly, Snakes, Someone Needs to Nominate Thor for a Darwin Award, Sons, Stabbing, Swearing, That time Loki tried to burn Thor at the stake, The Rulings Are Final, Thor & Loki - Freeform, Tricksters, Umbrellas, Wakes & Funerals, chainsaw, judge judy - Freeform, martyr
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-12-03
Updated: 2019-04-10
Packaged: 2019-09-06 03:05:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 13,117
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16823869
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wrathkitty/pseuds/wrathkitty
Summary: "The boys froze in terror as their father silently took in the scene before him – Loki, bare-chested and clinging halfway up the bedpost in an attempt to avoid Thor, who had been trying to write swear words on Loki's skin using his new nasal appendages – and then looked at each other in amazement when he promptly marched right back out again."(One of many nighttime scrapes that Loki and Thor get into; or, why the young princes of Asgard are the best birth control ever.)





	1. Great Aunt Snotra's Funeral

**Author's Note:**

> To get to the funny stuff first, scroll down to the 1st break, go up a few lines, and look for "Snotra." The first bit is taken from a scene in my other fic, You've Got Sucker's Luck, which is post-Avengers.
> 
> This fic was originally posted on FF.net back in 2014. I update it sporadically (very sporadically -- like, envision a glacier) but other than a few references here and there, each chapter is a one-shot and meant to stand on its own, so technically the fic is complete. But I'm totally open to taking requests if anyone is feeling particularly inspired.

"Cruelty?" Loki repeated incredulously, cutting him off. _"You,_ who abandoned me on Svartalfheim after I saved your useless hide, _and_ your precious Jane Foster – twice? And you speak to _me_ of cruelty?"

He was snarling now, beyond reason and blinded by hurt as he continued his rant, hissing, "You, who sit there from your throne of righteous indignation, accusing me of deceit and cruelty! Oh no, brother," he cried, "you will not lay my so-called sins at my feet, when you could have known the truth all along, had you _thought_ to take my body with you instead of leaving my corpse to rot – _why are you laughing?_ "

Thor's shoulders were shaking in helpless mirth, but there was an undertone of hysteria to his laughter that kept Loki from killing him outright. With inordinate effort, he forced himself to harness his wrath and began to pace the length of the room, furiously waiting for the buffoon to cease his idiotic guffawing.

"Have you not been listening to yourself, cow?" Thor exclaimed when he could speak again. "Shouting at me over my lack of _sentiment_ because I did not immediately construct a pyre and send you off properly, never mind that we were in the midst of battle?"

At the word 'sentiment,' Loki came to an abrupt halt, stiffening.

"You never held the remains of the dead in such high esteem before," Thor continued pointedly from behind him. "Or do you not remember Great Aunt Snotra's funeral?"

"Yes, I remember," Loki snapped without turning around, "and it's not sentiment, it's principle. Besides," he added in a derisive mutter, "Great Aunt Snotra always found reason to box our ears whenever she watched us as children."

He heard Thor burst into laughter again. This time, however, his brother's chuckling seemed to come from a place of genuine amusement rather than sorrow. "Indeed she did," he agreed, a smile in his voice, "which is why you sent her off to Valhalla with earlobes that stretched down to her knees."

"I thought it a vast improvement," Loki sniffed, wholly unapologetic. "It distracted the eye from her face."

He was trying his best to stay angry, but the rage that had set his blood to boiling had started to dampen, and a faint smile touched his mouth as he remembered that night…

* * *

Thor and he, no more than six or seven years old, standing in the crowd with their parents as the flaming pyre slipped over the edge of Franang's Falls. Each boy was determined to outdo the other in looking as mournful as possible, all the while trying to contain their sniggers whenever someone commented about the unusual flesh-colored bow that had been tied under Great-Aunt Snotra's chin.

"She was truly a credit to her name," one pompous dignitary remarked, dabbing at his eyes, "for whom better than the Goddess of Prudence to go to her eternal rest with naught but a modest ribbon about her neck?"

 _"Behave!"_ Frigga whispered sharply when a strangled snort escaped Thor, then glared warning daggers at Loki, who was turning purple in his efforts to stifle his own laughter.

The truth behind Great Aunt Snotra's curious funeral trimmings came to light later that evening. Both princes were thrashed soundly and sent to bed without supper, whereupon (at his brother's suggestion) Loki began trying to grow a second nose on Thor's face – practice, Thor explained, for any other upcoming funerals for relatives they did not particularly like. Loki was fairly successful at casting the spell, and laughed until he cried when Thor stuck drawing pencils up all three nostrils and proceeded to chase him around their bedchamber.

A sleep-deprived Odin stormed through the door in the midst of this game, roaring oaths and making promises of a second thrashing. The boys froze in terror as their father silently took in the scene before him – Loki, bare-chested and clinging halfway up the bedpost in an attempt to avoid Thor, who had been trying to write swear words on Loki's skin using his new nasal appendages – and then looked at each other in amazement when he promptly marched right back out again.

Their mother made an appearance soon after, her countenance more curious than angry, and exhibited a reaction similar to the Allfather's (by this time Thor had swapped the pencils for lit candlesticks and was dodging Loki's carefully-aimed mouthfuls of water). Heeding her maternal instincts, she returned several minutes later to douse the curtains, which had caught fire; yanked Loki's shirt back over his head and furiously ordered them both to go to sleep that instant.

(Thor and Loki never knew, but after marching out of their chamber, Frigga spent the next half-hour venting her frustration to Odin about _his_ sons. Her husband reasonably pointed out that scorched window dressings were hardly worth complaining about, especially in light of the midnight escapades that had transpired the previous week, which started when Thor stole a bag of chewing tobacco from a guard, and ended with Loki somehow not only convincing him to eat every last piece but then wash it all down with Frigga's best cologne – the younger prince of Asgard earned his name of Silvertongue at a very tender age.)

Under the baleful eyes of Huginn and Munnin, Thor and Loki spent the rest of that night whispering under the blankets, having lengthy discussions about whether three nostrils were better than two, what Father might look like with a nose in place of his eye patch, and whether the punishment they'd receive if Loki were able to pull off such a feat would be worth the trouble. They decided that, yes, it most certainly would be worth it, and drifted off to sleep, Thor snoring lightly with one arm and one leg sprawled over Loki. Despite the heavy weight across his chest and legs, Loki slept soundly, secure in the knowledge that his brother would always keep him safe.

When the princes came down to breakfast the following morning (the elder with a sore red nose, and the younger's cheek still bearing the smudged remnants of drawing pencil), Odin gravely informed his sons that they were expressly forbidden from attending funerals again until they were of age – but were now old enough to have separate bedchambers.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That's all, folks! Please let me know if you liked it. And, if you did, go to my author page and take a gander at "You've Got Sucker's Luck," my Loki fic-in-progress from whence this one-shot came. I think that was bad grammar but it's two AM which is the wrathkitty rambling hour where I talk about ponies and hanging clauses.
> 
> Random stuff (see above about 2 AM): The Norse Goddess of Prudence really was named Snotra. Thor's questionable choices in midnight snacks is based on my husband, who at the age of 3 ate a container of chewing tobacco, followed by an Aqua Velva chaser. This is the tip of the iceberg in the number of how-the-f*ck-did-you-survive-to-adulthood stories his parents have told me about raising him (there is a reason we don't have kids yet. I would end up like Frigga, except with less impressive hair and no semi-rational spouse to keep me grounded when my own little Loki and Thor are setting things on fire after face-planting into a kerosene heater [another true story]). Suffice to say I have a WEALTH of material that could easily be translated into more misadventures of 6-year-old Loki and Thor, AKA Frigga and Odin debate the merits of eating their young. If you're interested, PM me or leave a review saying as much…if there are enough requests then I'm happy to keep adding to this fic.


	2. A Midnight Lesson in the Current Events of Midgard

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is slightly sacrilegious. Which is to say very.

"Loki, are you certain this is a good idea?" Thor asked.

"Of course, brother," Loki assured him. He tightened the rope around Thor's waist, stepping back to survey his handiwork with a critical eye, and then compared the results to the illustrations in the book he was using as a reference. _More knots,_ he decided. "Master Ullr is always telling you to visualize in your mind what we read in our lessons."

"But can't we just go to Midgard and see it for ourselves?"

Loki frowned as he made a few more adjustments to the bindings. "You know Father won't let us go to Midgard again after what you did last time. Stop fidgeting!"

"The rope scratches!" Thor tried to twist away but stilled when he saw Loki's no-nonsense glare. "And what happened was not my fault!"

"You started a land war in Asia," Loki pointed out.

Thor looked down at the wooden practice swords and daggers strewn about his feet – they were to serve as kindling – and tried not to sulk. "I still don't even know what that _means."_ He paused, then asked, "What _is_ Asia, anyway?"

"One of the Christian saints, of course," Loki said with all of the authority any six-year-old boy who doesn't have a clue what he's talking about could possibly muster. Truth be told, he wasn't sure what their father had been so up in arms about during that trip, either, but Thor was the one getting punished and not him, so he'd not been paying terribly close attention to the matters of Asia or land wars therein.

Thor just continued grumbling. Rolling his eyes, Loki knelt down and to take a closer examination of book's illustrations. Like all of the texts he and his brother shared, _Current Events of Midgard and Other Mostly Harmless Realms_ was a weighty tome, and this particular beast was one of Loki's favourites. Its pages were always changing, updated regularly to reflect the constant tumult of Earth's primitive societies.

"I still think we ought to do this outside," he dubiously remarked. He hefted the book onto his knees and turned it around to show Thor. "The bedpost does not look anything like this stake in the picture."

"Well, stakes are made out of wood, are they not?" Thor pointed out. "And the bedpost is wood."

"That's true," Loki was forced to agree.

With that issue settled, he set the book aside and took stock of their inventory. "All right…we have kindling, a stake, a heretic – " Thor attempted to bow, a difficult thing given he was bound from knee to shoulder in rope. "Now all we need is fire. Where did you put the flint and tinder?"

A very guilty look came over Thor's face. "Um…I thought you had it."

Loki glowered at him. _"No,"_ he snapped, _"I_ don't have it, because _I'm_ not tall enough to reach the cupboard in the larder! That's why it was _your_ job!"

"I'm sorry, Loki," Thor said sincerely. "Can't you use a spell, like Mother?"

Loki was not quite able to stop his bottom lip from jutting out at the mention of this sensitive topic. "She says I'm not old enough to learn fire magic yet."

"Well, get some coals from the fireplace," Thor suggested, motioning over to the hearth with his chin. The servants had banked the fire before the princes went to bed, but a few glowing embers could still be seen amidst the ashes.

Muttering into his nonexistent beard over the unfairness of fretful mothers and forgetful brothers, Loki stalked across the room and came to a halt in front of the hearth. He focused his gaze on one of the orange coals, cupped both hands together, and closed his eyes, whispering the words Frigga had taught him. Warmth filled his hands, and when he opened his eyes again, a single coal floated between his palms. _This_ magic he had at least been permitted to learn.

"It's starting to go out," he warned, hurrying back over to Thor with his hands held out before him.

"Then hurry up – I can't feel my arms anymore."

Loki knelt down at the pile of wooden practice weapons and looked up at Thor. "You're supposed to say why you're a heretic," he reminded him.

Thor had that blank look on his face again.

"I hereby renounce…," Loki prompted.

"Oh!" Thor brightened and then took a deep breath, bellowing, _"I hereby renounce the one true god!"_

Loki began laughing so hard he almost dropped the coal. "You dunderhead," he chortled between whoops of laughter, "that's what the Romans _want_ the Christians to – oh, never mind."

He deposited the coal onto the makeshift pyre and scrambled to his feat. "I condemn you to your false god, heathen!" he shouted.

Having completed these crucial steps, both boys assumed the most serious expressions of which they were capable and waited for the fire to catch.

* * *

_In the adjacent bedchamber…_

* * *

"Odin."

"Mmph."

"Do you smell smoke?"

There was a sigh, followed by the rustling of bedclothes. "My dear, all of Asgard is lit with torches," Odin yawned, reaching out his arm and drawing Frigga close to his side. "I would be concerned if you did _not_ smell smoke."

"And I would be concerned if you take that patronizing tone with me again," she snapped, not mollified in the slightest, even less so when she heard Odin's sleepy chuckle.

"Forgive me," he said, giving her a gentle squeeze. "I promise to be sweetness and light the next time you wake me in the dead of night to ask me ridiculous questions."

She pointedly withdrew Odin's hand from where it was trying to slide under her nightdress and huffed. "You forget that behavior such as _that_ is why I am compelled to wake you to ask you ridiculous questions," she reminded him. "Or do you wish to add a third troublemaker to our brood?"

Odin's eye widened at such a prospect; she might as well have doused his libido with a bucket of ice water. Loki and Thor were well on their way to sending their parents to an early grave, and not even Idunn's apples could bolster Odin and Frigga through the inevitable mayhem if they were foolish enough to give the boys a new sibling.

"I am sorry to tell you, my dear, but I believe I have developed a sudden headache."

"Poor thing. Shall I fetch one of the healers for an analgesic?"

"No, no," Odin said hastily, "that will not be necessary."

A peaceful silence fell, albeit briefly.

"Odin, I _swear_ I smell smoke."

The Allfather sighed and endeavored to be patient. "Frigga, I truly believe it is just your imagination. You know as well as I that only time the boys are ever quiet is when they are —"

Muffled yelling came from next door.

"— Asleep," Odin finished. He and Frigga stared at one another in the darkness.

"It's your turn," they said in unison.

Both were readying their arguments when their chamber door cracked open. They fell silent, watching as a Loki-shaped shadow padded across the room and tiptoed over to the wardrobe that stood in the far corner. Rustling could be heard a moment later.

Frigga reached for the lamp on her nightstand, throwing the room into full illumination.

"Loki?"

The little boy froze, squinting at his parents in the sudden brightness. "You're supposed to be asleep!" he squawked.

"As are you," Odin said sternly. "What do you have in your hands?"

Loki pressed his back to the wardrobe, wide-eyed. "Nothing, Father."

Now it was Frigga's turn to glare. Looking reproachful, she motioned the boy over to her side of the bed. Loki's face fell and he went to her, drawing his hands from behind his back as he went.

"Flint and tinder?" she exclaimed when he reluctantly set his contraband on top of the bedclothes. "Has the fire in your chamber gone out?"

"No," Loki said promptly. "The fire in our chamber has not gone out."

Frigga and Odin exchanged a look; both were quite familiar with their youngest child's ability to alternately dodge and stretch the truth to meet his needs.

"Loki, what are you and Thor doing?" she asked wearily.

The little boy shuffled from side-to-side. "Erm…"

"The truth, child," Odin warned him.

"Studying." Loki's inflection made this sound more like a question than an answer.

"I have never known you boys to be so devoted to Master Ullr's lessons," Odin remarked as he rose from the bed. He grabbed Loki by the collar, adding, "Certainly not Thor, anyway."

"But we _were_ studying!" Loki protested, scrambling to keep up with his father's much-longer strides as he was unceremoniously hauled towards the door. "We were studying about the current events of Midgard!"

Frigga threw a cloak around her shoulders and followed close behind, half-curious and half-dreading what mayhem awaited them.

Odin threw open the adjoining door that connected his and Frigga's bedchamber to the boys' and came to a halt. Thor stood neatly tied to the bedpost, surrounded by still-smoking practice weapons and reciting prayers of his own creation.

"Hello, Father!" he said brightly. "We are playing martyr. Loki is burning me at the stake for being a heretic, but the fire went out."

"Which it would not have done if you'd taught me the fire spell, Mother," Loki couldn't help saying.

"I will not have a son known as the God of Pyromania," Odin barked. "Untie your brother at once." He pushed Loki forward, who began to protest.

"But then his soul will not go to the Christian heaven –"

_"NOW!"_

"Oh, all right…"

"Whose idea was this?" Frigga asked as Loki went to untie Thor. Loki's history of tricking his older brother into the most outrageous schemes made him the likely culprit, but she was trying to be fair.

Loki was suddenly very absorbed in loosening the rope from around Thor.

"Boys…"

"Homework for Master Ullr?" Thor said hopefully.

"Extra credit," Loki added, thinking this might help bolster their story. He finished untying the last knot and helped Thor step out from his would-be pyre.

Odin raised a fierce eyebrow and sternly pointed to the area before him. Both boys shuffled over, faces down, shoulders slumped, as their mother made her way to sit on the bed. _Current Events of Midgard_ still lay open on the pillow and she pulled it towards her, shaking her head when she saw the illustrations. Only Loki would have come up with the idea of martyring his brother as a prank.

"You will clean up this mess," Odin thundered.

Thor looked up in outrage, appalled by such a horrible prospect. "That is a servant's –"

"You will clean up this mess," Odin repeated, raising his voice now. "And you are hereby forbidden from doing anything that involves fire, martyrdom, or _land wars_ …"

By the time the Allfather was done, the list of things from which Thor and Loki were forbidden to do was longer than the list of what was permissible. The boys were sent straight back to bed with promises of their father coming up with even more creative punishments by the morning, and their parents returned to their own chamber, whereupon they decided they were damned either way and took out their frustrations in a time honored marital tradition.

* * *

_Later that night._

* * *

"Thor. Are you awake?"

"Mmph…Loki, g'sleep."

Loki tried again, poking his brother in the shoulder.

"Thor?"

"'M _tired_ …"

"I've an idea for something we could try that does not involve fire or martyrdom. Do you wish to hear it?"

Thor pulled the pillow over his head. "Can it not wait 'till morning?"

"No."

The pillow shifted, and Thor cast a grouchy eye out from beneath it. Loki was beside him, reading _Current Events of Midgard_ by the glow of a bright green star-shaped light he'd conjured.

"What is your idea?" Thor asked sleepily.

Loki beamed at him. "How long do you think it would take for us to build a guillotine?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for _The Princess Bride_ and _Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy_ inside jokes, but it was _inconceivable_ for me to not include them. This story is based on my mom, who, like any good Catholic, tried to burn her little sister at the stake when they were kids. She was inspired by a Sunday school lesson and was thankfully caught by my grandmother when she came into the kitchen looking for matches.


	3. A Perilous Combination

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Names and places have been changed to protect the innocent.

_"Bilgesnipe, bilgesnipe, Loki is a bilgesnipe,"_ Thor chanted in a sing-song voice through the door of their bath chamber.

Loki scowled from where he sat huddled in the tub and refused to reply. Once again, Thor and he had been banished to their chambers without supper, and Loki was beginning to wonder if he would ever enjoy a full weeks' worth of meals again.

The trouble all started after Odin announced the princes' livery colours. Thor, whose favourite colour happened to be orange, had taken poorly to his new red cape, and expressed his feelings on the matter by going on a selective hunger strike. Nothing orange-coloured would pass his lips ever again, he declared, a stance that he regretted when Odin promptly ordered the lead cook to serve nothing but orange foods and keep the larder locked at all times.

Thor managed to hold out for an entire day before changing tactics: Rather than go hungry, he would whine. Endlessly.

After a week of tolerating Thor's bitter complaints (and, to be honest, also thoroughly sick of squash, sweet potatoes, carrots, and kumquats), Loki lost his temper and cast a spell in the direction of his brother's dinner plate. The roasted gourd Thor had been picking at erupted in flames, leaving him with singed eyebrows and a gawking audience.

"There," Loki calmly announced as Thor gaped at the blackened remains of what had been a perfectly-seasoned sugar pumpkin, "I have solved your problem. Now _shut up."_

Torn between congratulating Loki for a job well done, and maintaining his dual roles of parent and king, Odin settled on casting a meaningful glare at his wife, who was already rising from her seat to go and have a stern discussion with their youngest. Thor, however, cut her off at the pass and demonstrated his appreciation for Loki's industriousness by taking aim at the younger prince's eye. They were summarily banished to their rooms, where they now sat on either side of the bath chamber door, taking turns antagonizing one another.

_"Bilgesnipe, bilgesnipe, Loki is a –"_

"Can you _not_ think of a more creative taunt?" Loki demanded, hurling a bar of soap at the door. It ricocheted off the wood and flew back in his direction; he yelped and ducked, barely escaping its path as it whizzed past his head.

"Did you get hit in the head with the soap, brother?" Thor asked with a laugh.

Outraged that Thor had successfully guessed at what just happened, Loki rose from the tub, stalked across the floor and yanked open the door. Thor tumbled forward across the threshold and scrambled upright, still snickering.

"Fine," Loki announced, not caring that he was naked and dripping water everywhere. "If I am a bilgesnipe, then you are a chicken."

Thor's face went blank. "What is a chicken?" he wanted to know.

"It is a creature of Midgard," Loki informed him, drawing upon what he'd seen in his last perusal of _Current Events of Midgard_. He reached for his towel and drew it around his shoulders, covering himself from shoulders to toes in emerald green terrycloth. "One that is afraid of everything," he added.

"I am no chicken!" Thor declared, following Loki out of the bath chamber and into their room. Loki ignored him and went to their bed, busying himself with pulling a fresh nightshirt out from under his pillow.

"I take it back, Loki," Thor said, goaded into trying to make amends. "You are not a bilgesnipe."

"Oh, but I agree with you, Thor," Loki insisted, his voice muffled as he tugged the nightshirt over his head. "I _am_ a bilgesnipe. Which makes you inarguably a chicken."

His older brother just scowled, indignation written all over his face, fighting a pout and failing.

"Would you like to see a picture?" Loki offered slyly when Thor remained silent. "They are notoriously stupid animals. They do not even have the sense to roll over and die when their heads are cut off – they continue to run around their yard until they explode."

This last bit was creative license on Loki's part, but it had the desired effect: Thor stomped his foot and bellowed, _"I am no chicken!"_

"Then prove it," Loki shot back.

"Name your test," Thor ordered.

"Chickens hate the taste of tobacco," Loki solemnly informed him, making this factoid up on the fly. "Neither do they like the flavour of cologne. If you are not a chicken, then you will love the taste of both."

Thor nodded briskly in agreement with this logic, and for a moment Loki felt genuine concern about his brother's intellect. He was, however, half-starved, and on most days _did_ demonstrate a modicum of common sense.

Attributing Thor's eagerness to go along with such a ridiculous plan to lack of sustenance – who had woken up with a renewed sense of purpose that morning and refused both breakfast and lunch – Loki pulled on his pajama pants and said, "Mother keeps cologne in her room. I shall go fetch it for you."

"Fine, bilgesnipe," Thor replied with a delighted grin, too caught up in the bloodthirst of the dare to fully appreciate the snare Loki had set for him. "And the tobacco?"

"Most of the Einherjar keep some in a pouch at their belt," Loki explained. "It is ceremonial, but it will serve the purpose of you proving you are not poultry."

"I am _not_ a chi—"

"Yes, yes," Loki said dismissively, "and now you get to prove it to us all."

Tobacco and cologne were quickly obtained, and the boys reconvened at the foot of their bed with their materials at the ready.

"Am I to drink it all?" Thor asked as Loki carefully removed the many-faceted crystal bottle of cologne out from under his shirt.

"Of course not, silly," Loki said with a shake of his head. He retrieved a tumbler from the nightstand and returned to Thor's side. "Mother will know if it is all gone."

This cologne was Frigga's favourite, a rare eau de parfum distilled from the flowers of the Vanir Tree on her native Vanaheim. A hybrid variety of orange blossoms, gardenias, and lilies, it blooms once a year at sunset, and for only an hour. The Allfather had presented a new bottle to Frigga on her birthday, her last one having lasted her for almost a century thanks to a careful hand and scant usage.

Loki poured a generous measure of the golden cologne into the tumbler, handed it to Thor, and then went to the small fountain that bubbled quietly from the wall in the far corner. He placed the mouth of the crystal bottle under the stream, filled it up to the top, and gave the contents a careful swish. Diluted, the difference in colour was not terribly noticeable.

He replaced the stopper and turned back to Thor, who was sniffing the contents of his tumbler with a suspicious expression.  
"Would you like to hear the sound a chicken makes?" Loki asked brightly.

"No," Thor snapped. He raised the tumbler to his lips, took a huge swallow, and drained the cologne in one gulp, grimacing all the way. Wiping his mouth, he then let out a huge belch and turned an odd shade of green.

"D-delicious," he managed to say out before reaching for the pouch of tobacco.

"Well done, brother," Loki applauded. He sat on the bed, beaming, and tried to think of other Midgard creatures that might come in handy for future pranks as Thor upturned the pouch of tobacco and poked at the fibrous brown pieces inside.

"I think one or two pieces will suffice," Loki offered magnanimously.

Thor dug in the pouch and removed a fistful of tobacco. He took a deep breath, bracing himself, and then stuffed it all into his mouth at once.

Loki watched with interest as his brother's expression went from one of dogged determination to revulsion.

"Is it not a tasty morsel?" he inquired.

Thor's cheeks bulged, and Loki took an unconscious half-step backwards just in case the contents of Thor's mouth and stomach decided to go in a reverse direction.

Pride was the only thing that carried Thor to the end of the dare. Eyes watering, he choked down the tobacco and then raced to the fountain to gulp down huge, cleansing mouthfuls of water.

"So…how did you like it?" Loki wanted to know when his brother finally came up for air.

Thor gasped, opened his mouth to speak, and then threw up all over the floor.

* * *

Odin and Frigga were preparing for bed when Loki burst into their room shouting that Thor was ill. They both took their time in making their way to the boys' chamber; projectile vomiting is a rare phenomenon among the Aesir, whose constitution is such that they are rarely bothered by stomach ailments, and it was common knowledge that Thor especially had the stomach of a goat.

Alas, his gastrointestinal tract could not withstand the lethal combination of tobacco and cologne, and his parents found him in dire straits. Over the sound of Thor emptying the contents of his stomach in the fountain, Loki confessed to everything (but conveniently forgot to mention the source of the cologne in question).

Odin read him a riot act so severe that the boy was reduced to hysterical tears, and for once Frigga was not in disagreement with her husband's severity, as she had drawn the short straw and was responsible for keeping Thor company as he suffered the aftereffects of attempting to prove that he was not, in fact, a chicken. (Her lack of sympathy decreased tenfold when she discovered her bottle of cologne sitting out on the table.)

As he sniffled, watching his brother alternately retch into a bucket or bolt for the toilet, Loki tried to assuage his ego by reminding himself that Thor should have had enough sense to know tobacco and cologne were inedible. But he could not deny that he had put the idea in Thor's head in the first place, and he bore much of the responsibility for Thor's current state.

Two hours later, the worst of it was over. After murmuring comforting works – and leaving a bucket by the nightstand – Frigga tucked Thor into bed and went to leave.

"Will he die?" Loki asked, sidling up to her as she made her way to the door.

"Only of embarrassment," she said grimly. Her expression softened when she saw the distress that came into Loki's eyes, and she reached out, giving his cheek a fond caress. "He will be fine by morning," she reassured him. "You, however, are another story. Come to my sitting room after breakfast and we will discuss your punishment."

Loki nodded soberly, then balked. "Will Father be there?" he asked, trepidation making his voice quaver.

Frigga inclined her head in assent. "Of course," she said sternly. "But I believe you have already received the worst of his ire." She sighed and nudged him in the direction of the bed. "Now, try to sleep, my son. No more schemes."

"Yes, Mother," Loki meekly agreed.

He watched her leave and chewed his lip for a while in the quiet. Thor slept soundly, as usual, the only noticeable difference in his slumber being the occasional gurgle from his still-insulted stomach. Not wanting to disturb him, Loki went to the chaise lounge and curled up beneath Thor's new red cape, which still lay in a discarded heap from where he had thrown it the week before.

As he lay there in the darkness watching the rise and fall of his brother's chest, a wonderful idea occurred to Loki about how to make up with his brother. It took him several tries, but when he finally thought he had it right, he crept over to Thor's bedside and shook him awake.

"Go 'way," Thor groaned.

"I will, but first – what colour do you see?" Loki turned up the wick on the oil lamp and held the cape out for his brother's inspection. Thor cast a woozy glower at the fabric, but then a frowned puckered his brow.

"It – it's _orange,"_ he said hoarsely. His throat was still raspy from copious vomiting.

"It is an illusion," Loki explained. "To you, your cape will appear orange, but it will look red to everyone else." He'd just accomplished a complicated bit of spell work but decided that moment was not the right time for bragging.

More awake now, Thor propped himself up on one elbow and took his cape in hand, marveling at the sight of his beloved orange. Some of the spark was returning to his eyes, and he looked up and smiled at Loki. "Thank you, brother!"

"You're welcome."

Loki was about to tell him to go back to sleep when he paused, sniffing. His nose screwed up in an involuntary wrinkle. "Ugh. You smell, Thor."

Thor shrugged and eased himself back down on the mattress, one hand still clutching his cape. "And you are a bilgesnipe," he mumbled sleepily.

Grinning now, Loki cracked open one of the windows and scampered into bed alongside him. His prank had taken a rather left-handed turn but he was confident it would have the desired result, and that pancakes would greet him the next morning rather than a plateful of kumquats.


	4. Staff Vaulting (Or, the Origins of Loki's Pole Dancing Abilities)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This chapter crosses the line between "absurd" and "no-holds-barred crazytown."
> 
> Also, I know I mispelled Gungnir but I'm too lazy to fix it.

"This is the worst idea you've ever had," Loki grumbled.

"No, brother!" Thor promptly contradicted. He peered over his shoulder to look back at Loki and grinned. "This is a _brilliant_ idea, and you are just jealous that you did not think of it first!"

Loki's scowl could not quite hide the truth of Thor's statement, but he scowled nevertheless and tried to look as indignant as possible. This wasn't hard to do; nothing ever good came of being hauled out of bed in the dark of night, especially when the individual doing the hauling was Thor, shouting, "Loki, wake up!" followed by the words, "I've just thought of something!"

Once Loki was awake enough to stop complaining and actually listen, however, he'd been forced to agree that Thor's scheme had merit, and agreed to participate. Hence their current – and precarious – position beneath their parents' bed.

"Where do you think will be the best place to try it –"

 _"Shut up!"_ Loki hissed, flailing an arm out and punching Thor on the shoulder. "They're coming!"

Both boys fell silent and hunkered back down to lie flat on the carpet, watching as their mother's daintily-shod feet entered the room, followed by their father's black dress boots.

"What an evening," they heard Frigga sigh as Odin shut the door behind them.

"I'm not sure what I found more fascinating," the Allfather remarked with a laugh. "How long that fool was able to discuss the lost art of salad arranging, or your ability to look enraptured as he blathered on. Well done, wife."

"Why is salad arranging an art?" Thor whispered in Loki's ear, muffling a yelp when Loki kicked him to be quiet. A silent but furious fistfight commenced, which came to a halt when Frigga asked, "Did you hear something?"

"Only the rattling of these old bones," Odin grunted as he sank down on the bed. The sound of the mattress shifting above the boys' heads was accompanied was a quiet, unmistakable _clang;_ the Allfather had set Gugnir aside, propping it up against the wall by his side of the bed where he always kept it at night.

Oblivious to the presence of their sons, Odin and Frigga went about their usual evening routine. Loki had nodded off by the time they finally came to bed, leaving Thor to stand vigil as he waited for their parents to drift into sleep.

After waiting an interminable fifteen minutes, light snores could be heard. Taking that as his cue, Thor poked Loki in the side, clamping a hand down over his mouth to keep him from shouting as he came awake.

 _They're asleep,_ Thor mouthed to Loki, who nodded and gently pushed his brother off of him. It was time to commence Part One of their plan.

Hitching forward on his stomach, Loki inched his way over to their father's side of the bed to where Gugnir sat, just visible in the darkness, the occasional gleam of light glancing off of it from the banked fire. He waved his hands in opposite directions; the golden staff vanished from sight, tucked away in what the family had started referring to as Loki's Dimension – an invisible pocket where he habitually stored the odd object (or contraband) that caught his interest.

Gugnir acquired, the boys began to make their escape, silently coming out from under the bed and padding their way to the door. Both breathed a huge sigh of relief upon crossing the threshold into their own room.

"I thought they would never fall asleep," Thor remarked as he flung himself onto the chaise lounge. He bounced on it a few times and then eagerly motioned to Loki, urging, "Let's see it."

"Patience, brother," Loki replied, doing a perfect imitation of their deportment master. Thor stuck his tongue out in response.

Smirking, Loki retrieved Gugnir with a flourish, making it re-appear in a flash of emerald light. Gingerly, he set the golden staff upon the bed as Thor clambered up to joined him, and together they spent a few moments gazing at the legendary weapon in reverent silence.

"We should go to the practice yards," Loki remarked, breaking the quiet. He reached out a finger and drew it across the golden metal; it hummed beneath his touch. "There's not enough room in here to try it out without knocking something over."

"We could cut it in half," Thor suggested as if this were the most practical solution in all the realms. "And then weld it back together again."

Loki gawked at him in horror. "This is _Gugnir,_ brother," he reminded Thor, exasperated by his brother's short-sightedness. "You cannot simply cut it in half like a tree. The metal is too strong." A thoughtful look suddenly came over his face. "Although…" He darted over to the stack of books on his nightstand.

"What?" Thor demanded, following him.

"Something I read in a book," Loki answered distractedly. He dug through pile, searching for one in particular.

"Of course," Thor intoned. He let his head fall back to address the ceiling as he said, "A book. Why does it always involve books?"

"Here it is!" Loki exclaimed, snatching up a small book of embossed blue leather. _"Future Inventions of Midgard._ I was just reading it. It's a device called…" He leafed through the pages, muttering as he searched, "A chain…chain…Ah, here we are. A chainsaw."

He passed the book to Thor, whose scorn immediately vanished upon seeing the picture on the page. It was of an intriguing device with an orange-and-black handle, connected to a many-toothed, blunt-edged blade.

" 'Black and Decker?' " he asked, reading aloud what was written on the device's handle. He looked at Loki, wide-eyed. "What does it do?"

"It cuts through impervious materials," Loki explained, reaching out for the book. Thor made no move to return it, too busy flipping through to see what other curiosities he could find.

"Impact driver," he breathed excitedly. "Sabre saw – " He snapped his head up and looked at Loki with mounting enthusiasm. "Brother, can you _make_ any of these machines?"

Loki rolled his eyes and snatched the book from Thor's grip. "Well, that's the point, isn't it?" he retorted, turning back to the chapter about chainsaws. He skimmed the text, nodding to himself like a pompous professor in miniature as Thor waited impatiently beside him.

"What's wrong?" he demanded when Loki's face fell.

"The saw of chains will be far too loud," Loki explained with a sigh. He closed the book and set it aside. "And Mother has only just started teaching me sound dampening spells. We'll just have to try Gugnir the way it is."

Thor was too good-natured to pout for long over this disappointment, and smiled. "Let's push the furniture up against the walls," he suggested to Loki. "It will free up more space."

For once, Loki did not argue with his brother. The boys made quick work of it, leaving their bed in place to serve as a landing area. Thor had the idea to run a moat down the center of the floor, which Loki obliged, and on a whim also conjured up one or two finned creatures – sharks, he explained to Thor. They swam ominously beneath the waves, lending an air of mystery and danger.

"You first," Loki declared when their preparations were complete.

"As is my right," Thor replied confidently, narrowly missing the swing Loki aimed at his head.

Snickering, Thor hefted Gugnir in both hands and braced himself against the far wall opposite of the bed. Loki watched from the sidelines, half-hoping his brother's first attempt would be a spectacular failure (because then he could tease Thor mercilessly), and half-hoping he was successful (because then Thor might be so pleased with himself that he would forget to badger Loki into taking his own turn at the game).

Thor took a deep breath, pushed away from the wall and galloped forward, placing Gugnir's base onto the floor just as he approached the moat. Using the staff as leverage, he launched himself forward into the air and drew his knees to his chest, whooping in triumph as he sailed across the miniature river in a neat arc to land in a heap onto the bed.

"This is great fun!" he shouted, bouncing to his knees. His hair stuck out in every direction, straw-like, and he beamed exuberantly. "Your turn."

Loki managed a wan smile and stepped forward to take Gugnir from where Thor held it out to him across the moat, trying to ignore the blunt-nosed shark that was eyeing him beneath the waves. He hated heights. Why had he let Thor drag him into such a stupid adventure?

As Thor called out encouraging words ("Remember, brother, the worse that could happen is we'll get caught and Father will thrash you"), Loki attempted to gauge the distance between himself and the bed, trying to mentally prepare for what he was about to undertake.

"Chicken or bilgesnipe, brother?" he heard Thor slyly inquire.

"Neither," Loki snapped, glowering. "And move out of the way. I would hate to land on you and break your face."

Thor flopped back down onto the chaise lounge, grinning with smug superiority as Loki cautiously backed up against the wall. Clutching Gugnir between sweaty palms, he took a huge gulp of air, squeezed his eyes shut, and blindly started to run.

Fourteen steps, he told himself, counting the number of times his feet pounded upon the floor. Fourteen steps until he needed to press Gugnir to the ground and jump as hard as he could –

_"Loki, watch out!"_

Loki's eyes flew open to see he was hurtling towards the waiting mouth of an eager shark. He'd either miscounted steps or been taking longer strides than usual.

Without thinking, he slammed Gugnir to the floor and leaped, but he was too slow in his timing, and the shark jumped from the water just as Loki reached the apex of his jump.

_I'm going to die. I'm going to die. I'm going to die. I'm going to die._

These would have been Loki's final thoughts, but reflexes he was heretofore unaware he possessed suddenly flared to life.

Maintaining a secure two-handed hold on Gugnir, both of Loki's legs kicked out, holding his body parallel to the moat as he swung clear of the shark. The creature rallied with its tail, managing another few inches higher in the air; Loki kicked again with his feet to propel himself a full three-hundred-and-sixty-degrees around Gugnir, successfully keeping himself out of harm's way. Thor, watching from below as his brother pirouetted mid-air around a pole to escape a fanged sea creature, had to admit this was quite a performance, and congratulated himself from having the idea to steal Gugnir in the first place.

The shark splashed back into the water just as Loki landed feet-first on the bed. He stood there for a second or two, breathing weakly, before falling to knees, and then face-planted forward onto the bedclothes.

"That was amazing, brother!" Thor crowed, slapping him on the shoulder. "Shall we do it again?"

Loki could only manage a muffled groan in reply, and promised himself that he would pretend to be asleep the next time Thor woke up feeling inspired.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have no explanation for why I thought introducing Thor to power tools would be a good idea. Although to be honest he seems more like a DeWalt kind of guy than Black and Decker…


	5. Snake, Snake, Oh It's a Snake...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Really quick little oneshot. I can't take any credit for it. It was prompted by that scene in Ragnarok, where Thor, Bruce and Valkyrie are trying to decide what to do with Loki.

"And _that_ is why I kissed her," Fandral finished with an exaggerated bow. Even at the early age of 8, he already had perfected what was to become his trademark swashbuckling swagger.

Thor rolled his eyes and flopped down in the grass beside his friend. It was the first day of summer, and the weather was beautiful – not too hot, and nothing but blue skies as far as the eye could see. He wished Loki had been permitted outside to join them, but his brother was currently holed up in their chambers, enduring his latest punishment - writing _I shall not make the ambassador vanish in the middle of a diplomatic luncheon_ a thousand times over.

"And was this kiss worth Sif splitting your lip and breaking your wrist?" Thor inquired, lolling his head to one side to let the grass tickle his cheek.

Fandral had the decency to look embarrassed, and gingerly shifted the injured limb in question to a more comfortable resting spot on his stomach.

"No," he admitted, then quietly declared to himself, "and I shan't make a second attempt."

The boys fell quiet for a time, watching the clouds drift by. Fandral had just started dozing off when he heard Thor exclaim, "Look!"

He opened his eyes and saw Thor propped up on his elbows, gaze fixated on the nearby stone bench. There on the seat lay a little jewel-green snake, curled up and basking in the sun.

Both boys clambered over to get a closer look. The snake lifted its head as they approached, regarding the boys with bright, curious eyes. Upon closer examination, Thor noticed, its head bore two tiny golden horns, which glinted in the light.

"Hello, snake!" Thor greeted it happily. "You're going to be my new pet."

"Careful," Frandal cautioned as his friend reached out towards the creature. "It could be poisonous."

"Poison poses no threat to the God of Thunder," Thor scoffed. "Besides, it is a very _small_ snake."

His fingers had just started to close around the reptile when there came a bright flash of green light. The snake vanished, and Loki now stood in its stead, wearing a manic grin and clutching a dagger in his right hand.

 _"Baaaaagh!"_ he shouted, leaping down from the bench. "It's me!"

And then he plunged the dagger into Thor's stomach.

* * *

"Mother! Father! Thor's been stabbed!"

Loki raced into the chamber and looked wildly around until he spotted his parents. Frigga sat at her loom in the far corner, weaving new winter clothes for the boys, and Odin was stretched out in bed, trying to catch a nap between council meetings. Neither adult turned to look at the Loki as he skidded into view, still out of breath from his mad dash from the gardens.

"Is he bleeding?" Odin inquired from the bed, eye still closed.

"Umm," Loki hesitated. Telling them that Thor was gushing blood _would_ be far more interesting, but also came with the strong possibility of greater punishment.

He opted for the truth: "No, not much. It was a very small dagger."

Frigga leaned forward to study an errant thread on the loom.

"Is anything broken?"

"No..." Loki shuffled from one foot to the other, then reconsidered. "Well, his _pride_ maybe –"

Odin took what he told himself was a long, cleansing breath, and slowly exhaled.

"Loki."

"Yes, Father?"

"You shall not stab your brother again."

Loki perked up, seeing endless possibilities in this statement, but his face fell when Odin continued, "Neither shall you hit him, kick him, punch him, martyr him, fool him into eating foreign substances, or in any other way attempt to trick, maim him, or inflict bodily, mental, or emotional harm."

"Yes, Father," Loki muttered.

"The healing stones are in the cupboard, dear," Frigga said lightly.

She watched out of the corner of her eye as Loki stomped over to fetch the healing stones. She could tell from the stubborn set of his mouth that he was already trying to find loopholes around Odin's declarations of All of the Ways In Which You Will Not Hurt Thor, but felt it was best to let the matter drop for now. And honestly, in light of some of the boys' previous escapades, Loki stabbing his brother was almost tame by comparison.

After Loki had left, Odin opened his eye, stretched, and looked over to Frigga.

"And you are certain you do not wish to try for a girl?" he asked. "Perhaps having a younger sister would be a positive influence."

"Perhaps," Frigga replied, her face serene. "Or she would be as much of a positive influence as their older sister."

Odin gulped. It was an unspoken rule that his eldest daughter was never mentioned. Hela was the result of a very, very regrettable dalliance in Odin's youth, and not a day went by when he wished he had not been so easily swayed by lust.

"Of course, my love," he said hastily. "You are right, as always."

"Mm." Frigga smiled and continued weaving.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've had two kids since writing the earlier chapters in this fic. They're amazing but my husband and I spend most of our time trying to make sure they're not about to burn down the house, or intervening when the toddler is screaming bloody murder because the preschooler decided right at that moment that a dried-out marker was her personal Shroud of Turin and like hell she's going to share it with anyone, ever, until she finds a different marker that isn't dried out and draws all over her brother's face, who suddenly decides he loves his sister again and then wanders off to:
> 
> a) eat catfood  
> b) play in the toilet  
> c) find a huge-ass butcher knife and then promptly run away with it when he realizes he's been spotted  
> d) all of the above, but not before stair-climbing the drawers in the kitchen to try and turn on the stove.
> 
> "Hostage negotiator" may or may not be listed as one of my skills and endorsements on LinkedIn. 
> 
> I said that to say this: Frigga and Odin's reactions to hearing that one child stabbed the other are only a slight exaggeration of how my husband and I would react if it were our own kids. 
> 
> Also, we still can't figure out how he found the knife.


	6. One Flew Over the Ravens' Nest, or, Even the Gods Can Be Psychoanalyzed

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1) I give full credit to opusnone for inspiring this chapter.  
> 2) As someone with a background in psychology, I had an absolute fucking field day with this.  
> 3) Rating has been changed for language just in case, but I'm new to Ao3, so let me know if I'm being overly paranoid.  
> 

“I still do not understand why I must call you ‘doctor,’” Thor grumbled. He gave a quick wriggle in hopes of finding a more comfortable spot on the firm leather chaise lounge, but this was proving impossible.

“Because,” Loki frowned at his clipboard – he could not quite ascertain what he was meant to do with it – and then peered over his round tortoiseshell glasses to look at Thor, who just had gotten his hair caught in one of the button tufts on the couch and was trying to disentangle himself. “That is my title. _Doctor_ Loki of Freud. And turn back over, you’re not supposed to lie on your stomach.”

Thor paused in untangling his hair. “What the Hel is a froid anyway?”

“Language, brother,” Loki scolded. He shoved the too-large glasses back up his nose with a finger, frowning when they slipped back down again. “And I _told_ you, it is a name – Sigmund Freudsson. He was a renowned psychiatrist on Midgard…or rather, he _will_ be.”

Thor disgustedly flopped over onto his back once more, and then cast a scowl in the direction of Loki’s favorite text, _Current Events of Midgard and Other Mostly Harmless Realms,_ which sat on a nearby table.

“I know you love that book, Loki,” he huffed, “but I still think it is unwise for you to use time travel magic to look into Midgard’s future.”

“The proper term would be ‘spoilers,’” Loki replied absently; he had finally determined the function of the clip on the board and was in the process of shoving a piece of parchment beneath of it. “Also, since when are _you_ one to lecture me about being unwise?”

“ _You_ were the one who turned Huginn and Muninn into parrots last week,” Thor pointed out, then threw in a, “Fool,” for good measure.

Loki blinked owlishly from behind his glasses as he recalled the incident to which Thor was referring. Neither Odin, or the former parrots in question, had completely forgiven him for that particular prank, which escalated far beyond his original intentions when the birds witnessed Thor launching into an impressive bout of swearing after stubbing his toe.

Huginn and Muninn proved to be marvelous mimics in parrot form, a talent which they proceeded to spectacularly demonstrate after escaping from the princes’ chambers. They flew straight to the throne room, where Odin was in the midst a very tense bout of trade negotiations with a delegation from Alfheim. The birds alighted upon the Allfather’s throne, informed the prime minister what they thought of his mother, intimated that he had been sired illegitimately, and that he could kindly go and engage in several rounds of coitus with himself. The delegation had stood there in stunned silence for a moment or two before stomping their way back to the Bifrost; as they exited right, Odin calmly rose from his throne, took a leisurely walk to the library, cuffed Loki, and then went to his study where he spent a solid five minutes whooping with laughter because he did not give a shit about Alfheim anyway.

Regretfully, Huginn and Muninn retained their newfound talent even after Loki reversed the spell, and ever since had been holed up in his parents’ chambers until they cleaned up their vocabulary. Frigga, who held little fondness for her husband’s ravens, was highly displeased with the new arrangement, and might have been stealthily contributing to their delinquency by using some four-letter epithets of her own whenever she was in their presence in hopes that Odin would give up on the pair ever being fully rehabilitated, which would at last give her good reason to send the damn birds off to Mispelheim.

Loki winced, feeling a phantom pain in the back of his skull where his father had whacked him. He had been reading about Midgard’s future population of Puritans only last night; perhaps arranging for them to spend some time in a village full of non-swearing, pious mortals would hasten the ravens’ lexical convalescence?

He decided this might be a viable solution and tucked it away to examine later, and then returned his attention to the matter at hand: Thor’s very first session of psychoanalysis.

Loki picked up the fountain pen he had already conjured for himself, unscrewed the cap, and tidily wrote down his patient’s name, birthdate, and the current date and time. The green ink was very pretty against the bright white of the parchment, he observed.

Satisfied, he sat back in his enormous leather wingback chair, crossed a leg over one knee as he had seen in the photograph, and arranged his face in what he considered to be a ‘clinical expression.’

“Shall we begin?” he inquired. 

His brother’s only reply was an annoyed, “Mmmph,” in the affirmative.

“Tell me about your mother,” Loki requested.

Thor’s blonde head shot up over the arm of the couch. “What!?”

“That’s what it says I am supposed to ask you,” Loki explained; the question did not make much sense to him either, but he certainly was not about to admit anything of the sort to Thor. “And turn back around! You are not supposed to be looking at me.”

His brother sank back down into the couch and Loki resettled himself more comfortably into his chair.

“So – tell me about your mother.” 

“But she’s _your_ mother, too!” Thor exclaimed. “You already know everything I know!”

“Yes, but not from _your_ perspective,” Loki pointed out.

Thor blinked a few times, trying to think. “Her name is Frigga?”

“Mm.” Loki nodded, pen flying furiously over the parchment.

When he offered no further reply, Thor realized he was supposed to continue talking and tried again:

“She’s pretty?”

“Ah, so you find her attractive?”

Thor’s face knotted into a very puzzled frown. “Uhhh. Yes?”

 _Patient may have unresolved romantic feelings for his mother,_ Loki wrote.

Aloud, he inquired, “When did you first notice you were attracted to your mother?”

“I am not attracted to Mother!” Thor screeched.

Loki was scribbling on his parchment again. _Patient is in denial of unresolved romantic feelings for his mother._

“All right,” he said agreeably, feeling that they had sufficiently explored this portion of Thor’s subconscious, “let us move on. Tell me about your father.”

“Loki…,” Thor groaned.

Silence. He knew better than to wait Loki out, and gamely tried to continue playing along.

“He has one eye,” he said. “And a beard. He is tall –”

“I know what he _looks_ like, Thor; I want to know how you _feel_ about him.”

“Well, he’s my father,” Thor shrugged. “I love him.”

_Patient may have unresolved romantic feelings for his father._

“Why are you writing so much?” he demanded.

“It’s called taking a case history, Thor,” Loki told him haughtily, not looking up from his notes, “Now, tell me about your _relationship_ with your father.”

Thor mulled over this question for a few moments. “Um…he likes red and I don’t,” he said finally. “And sometimes I am still angry at him about that. But,” his voice brightened, “he _did_ say I can have a hammer when I am older, and that makes me feel less angry that he likes red so much.”

_**Patient made mention of phallic imagery in reference to father-- must follow-up with this matter in subsequent sessions!_

Loki paused to reread this latest observation, and then added a few more asterisks.

* * *

“Shit.”

The Allmother stiffened and aimed a withering glower at Huginn from where she sat on the divan, reading. Both ravens had spent the morning holding court in the far corner of the salon, loitering on the window sill and cursing at anyone who came within earshot. 

“Fucking hell,” cawed its counterpart.

Frigga’s eyes narrowed to slits, but she forced herself to take a deep breath and returned to her book.

Muninn finished preening its pinfeathers and cocked its head at a passing dustmote.

“Fuck off,” it croaked.

“Son of a bitch,” replied Huginn.

Frigga’s jaw tightened ever so slightly. She turned a page and continued to read.

“Asshole.”

The book flashed out of sight and a long silver dagger appeared in its stead. Frigga slowly began to rise from her seat, teeth bared and out for blood.

_Little beady-eyed bastards –_

“Frigga!”

She whipped her head around to see Odin, standing there framed in the doorway. He gaped at her, rendered speechless at the sight of his normally unflappable wife looking positively savage.

Frigga drew herself up, regal and remorseless. “One more week, husband,” she warned him, _“one more week,_ else I’ll have their feathers for pillows and the only thing warming your bed at night will be their corpses.”

Eyes flashing, she proceeded to toss the dagger at him with a practiced hand and re-apparated her book; Odin caught the dagger neatly by the hilt and held his tongue as he watched her sail past him and out of the room.

Odin set the weapon down on the arm of the divan with a sigh and slowly approach his ravens.

“My friends,” he informed them, his voice grave, “You are on borrowed time. I know you are intelligent creatures, and that your persistent use of such crude language is no accident. Cease these pranks, I implore you.”

Both Huginn and Muninn gazed up at the Allfather, looking rather thoughtful, even for a pair of enchanted birds. Odin smiled back at them fondly. Surely they would abide by his request.

The ravens opened their beaks and went to speak. “Motherfucker,” they announced in unison.

Odin’s head fell into his hands with a muttered, “Shit,” and wearily headed off to go grovel at the feet of his wife.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I will proofread this again over the next couple of days and clean up any typos that I missed.
> 
> And - Shameless/desperate signal boost for my other Loki fic: Go check out _You’ve Got Sucker’s Luck_. It is my baby and it’s literally crickets over there, despite decent feedback from my FF.net peeps.
> 
> [You've Got Sucker's Luck](https://archiveofourown.org/works/16201679/chapters/37865411)


	7. The People vs. The Brothers Odinson, or, That Time Loki Thought It was a Bright Idea to Appear on Daytime TV

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter will not be nearly as amusing if you are unfamiliar with the brilliance that is Judge Judy. If you haven't seen the show before - watch [this](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=CS7W64rXPiw) first. You won't regret it. (Watching the show, I mean. You might regret reading this chapter.)

~ Midgard, Circa 1998, AD ~

***

_You are about to enter the courtroom of Judge Judith Sheindlin._

_The people **are real.** The cases **are real.** The rulings **are final.**_

**_This is Judge Judy._**

_***_

_Cassidy Lewellyn, 23 years, is suing brothers Loki and Thor Odinson for the theft of a designer umbrella..._

* * *

Loki did not bother concealing his good humor as he and Thor stood waiting in the lobby, milling about with the other mortals.

“It should not be much longer now,” he cheerfully assured his brother. He glanced up at the decorative clock that hung on the wall, which displayed the current time as being nine twenty-eight. “Based upon the information I gleaned last night from the butler, she is reputed to be quite punctual.”

“I still question the wisdom in this scheme, brother,” Thor replied before turning away to give a cheeky wink to the gaggle of admirers lingering nearby.

“Why, brother! One would almost say I am starting to rub off on you,” Loki teased. For once, he did not feel the slightest twinge of jealousy that it was Thor being showered with adoration. He was simply too excited.

Oh, this was going to entertaining.

Bored out of his mind one day while suffering through yet another one of the Allfather’s droning speeches, Loki had proposed the idea of a ‘road trip’ to Thor. His older brother was very keen on such a prospect, and the brothers were soon off on their merry way to Earth, where they spent the next few months lollygagging their way across the globe – Thor primarily occupied with women and drinking, and Loki eagerly studying the natives as one would animals in a zoo.

Yes, their mingling amongst the mortals thus far had been _most_ amusing – and being falsely accused of stealing a designer umbrella from a high-end department store (and subsequently getting sued for their trouble) was now proving to be quite the cherry on top.

Who could have guessed that obliging Thor’s request to turn Mjolnir into an umbrella would have led to such fun? They had been at Barney’s at the time, and Loki had used the first thing he laid his eyes on for inspiration – which turned out to be a generously-sized black parasol designed by one Alexander McQueen. It was even edged in red.

Regrettably, the female sales associate who had been on the sales floor while Loki was transforming Mjolnir mistook the facsimile to be the genuine article. Feeling spiteful -- Thor and this particular young lady were in the midst of a tiresome round of flirting at the time the misunderstanding took place -- Loki decided steal the real umbrella, and then goaded the woman into calling the police to report the theft that had now actually taken place. Law enforcement arrived promptly, and they read the gods their rights, Loki convinced Thor that _of course_ they should allow the proceedings to unfold naturally, in hopes of seeing where the journey might take them.

(“Is this also part of the road trip?” Thor wanted to know as they were being led out of the establishment in handcuffs.)

The journey was short-lived, and took the form of balking at the accommodations offered to them at the local jail, posting bail, and puzzling over the summons that was left taped to the door of their hotel room several weeks later. The sales associate’s employment at Barney’s had been terminated thanks to Loki’s petty larceny, and – in the recently-established and soon-to-be long-honored tradition of late twentieth century mores in the United States – her response was to sue them.

Loki initially was in agreement with Thor that it was time to return home, but changed his after catching one game-changing little detail in the subpoena: the venue in which the proceedings were to take place was _televised_.

How could he resist such a prospect?

 _(Could_ he?)

He could not!

The wooden doors to the courtroom swung open, and Loki and Thor – the latter holding the very umbrella in question – filed into the arena alongside the throngs of eager spectators.

The brothers walked down the center aisle and assumed their positions on the left side of the room as they had been instructed. The plaintiff took her place opposite, chin held high. Behind them, the mortals settled into the rows of chairs and began chattering amongst themselves, and the quiet buzz of excitement grew steadily louder in volume as the minutes ticked by.

A tall male wearing a beige uniform approached them not long after – the bailiff, Loki ascertained, based upon the information he had learned from the internet butler named Jeeves. (As far as servants went, the man was terrible, but he _was_ impressively up-to-date on matters concerning…well, everything.)

Next came the token oaths to tell the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth. Thor beamed at the cameras as he and Loki submitted to the charade, each placing their left hand on a Bible and swearing (solemnly) that they would utter no falsehoods over the course of the next eighty minutes.

Justice was not only blind, she was a damned idiot, Loki thought to himself.

(Wanting to play it safe, however – even he knew better than to risk incurring the wrath of Christian god, whose reputation for mischief was far worse than Loki’s own – Loki secretly changed the contents of the book to the abridged works of Shakespeare.)

The absurd little ritual with the Shakespearean Bible was then repeated with the plaintiff, who by this point had clearly started regretting her decision to sue rather than woo and was openly ogling Thor’s biceps.

“Order,” the bailiff called, addressing the room. “All rise.”

The gallery fell quiet, and everyone in the chamber obediently shuffled to their feet. An older woman swept out moments later, emerging from a hidden door placed at the back of the room. Without so much as a second glance to the gallery, she marched straight for the raised desk that dominated the arena – the bench.

She was of diminutive stature, Loki observed, clad in a shapeless black robe, its only adornment being a bit of lace around the collar. She appeared middle-aged, and while she was not conventionally unattractive, the no-nonsense, sour set of her mouth suggested she had spent the better part of her morning sucking on lemons.

Mortality and unpleasant countenance aside, however, he could not deny that the woman had _presence_. He could tell when he was facing off with a force to be reckoned with, and this woman was indeed such a force.

Loki’s grin started to border on manic.

“Judge, this is case number 283 on the calendar in the matter of Lewellyn vs. Odinsons,” the bailiff was saying. He handed her a thick sheaf of papers, which the judge began skimming over with an expression of faint disinterest. “Parties have been sworn in.”

He stepped away and turned to face the audience once more. “You may be seated.”

The Judge slid on a pair of spectacles and continued leafing through documents for a few more seconds. Finally, she turned to the plaintiff, peering down at her over the top of her glasses.

“You’re Ms. Lewellyn?”

“Yes, your honor?” affirmed the sales associate. Loki shuddered; he had forgotten about her habit of ending every sentence in the form of a question.

“And you’re suing them,” the Judge tilted her head in the direction of Thor and Loki, “for stealing…an umbrella.”

Muffled laughter could be heard from the gallery.

“Um, yes, your honor?”

The Judge set the papers aside and swept off her glasses.

“This must be quite the umbrella, Ms. Lewellyn,” she remarked, “that you went to all this trouble. I can’t wait to hear about this umbrella. Byrd, aren’t you excited to hear the story about this umbrella?”

“Yes, Judge,” replied the bailiff, not cracking a smile, unlike the members of the gallery, who began openly snickering.

Smirking a bit herself, the Judge shifted in her chair and fixed her gaze upon Loki and Thor.

“Am I to understand that you’re brothers?”

Taking that as his cue, Loki proffered the judge his most genial smile and stepped forward.

“Yes, madam,” he answered warmly. “We are but humble travelers – “

“And which one of you is which, sir?” she demanded, cutting him off.

He blinked. “Uh, I am Loki Odinson –”

“And you are?” she asked, looking over to Thor.

“Thor, god of – _ow_!” Loki had stomped on Thor’s foot, “O-Odinson,” he finished with a cough.

The brothers’ gaffe was not lost on the Judge, but she chose to ignore it. Instead, she made deliberate a head-to-toe perusal of Loki and sniffed.

“Mr. Odinson, that’s a ridiculous outfit that you chose to wear to court today,” she observed.

Loki had fully anticipated on being able to charm their way out of this judicial farce with ease, but the woman’s unexpected criticism caught him off guard for two reasons:

One, how _dare_ she?

Two, _he_ had had the sense to don his casual armor, and so left his horns and cape in the hotel room. Thor, on the other hand, had insisted on appearing in full battle regalia, complete with winged helm gripped under one arm. Why then, was _he_ not being subjected to this woman’s small-minded, ill-informed sartorial commentary?

“I beg your –”

“I don’t know what kind of statement you thought you were making,” the Judge briskly continued, talking over Loki, “but if you wanted to leave the impression on this recording,” she gestured to the cameras, “that you’re going to have on posterity for your children that you are an intelligent, thinking person, the ensemble you’re wearing belies that fact.”

Thor’s face split into a relieved smile. He turned and gripped Loki’s upper arm with a beefy hand, shaking him with delight.

“She is on our side, brother!” he exclaimed. “She sees that you are intelligent!”

Loki’s eyes had not left the Judge’s, who was boldly returning his gaze stare-for-stare. For one uncomfortable moment, he could have sworn he was glaring at a female version of Odin.

Shoving this horrid thought out of his mind, he re-plastered the smile on his face and, veritably oozing charisma, attempted to start afresh.

“Good Lady Sheinland,” he began, “if you –”

Judge Judy’s eyes took on a dangerous gleam.

“Byrd,” she glanced over to the bailiff, “Did he just call me ‘Good Lady?’

The bailiff’s gaze remained on the gallery, but a minuscule, knowing smile came across his face.

“Yes, he did, Judge.”

Loki glowered back at him. Heimdall claimed to have not sired any children, but this mortal bore an unmistakable resemblance to Asgard’s gatekeeper…

Judge Judy leaned forward from her perch on the bench and looked Loki straight in the eye.

“Don’t try to flatter me, Mr. Odinson,” she warned, “because it’ll be the fastest way out the door for you, sir. I wasn’t born in 1965.”

“Neither was he,” Thor pointed out, chuckling.

The Judge’s eyes narrowed. “Excuse me?”

“He _said_ , we understand, madam,” Loki was smiling so hard he thought his face might break, “You need not worry about further flattery from me.”

“I’m not worried about anything at all from you,” she shot back. “Now,” she slid the spectacles back on her face and returned to the matter at hand. “You are the younger brother, correct?”

“Yes,” he affirmed pleasantly, “However, I shall be speaking for the both of us.”

The Judge gave Loki a skeptical frown and looked over to Thor.

“Mr. Odinson? The _other_ Mr. Odinson? Yes, you, the Viking Charles Atlas.”

Thor stopped making eyes at the plaintiff and snapped to attention.

“Yes, good lady?”

The Judge’s mouth thinned.

“Mr. Odinson, you’re sure you are comfortable with your brother speaking for you both?”

“Certainly,” Thor nodded. “Loki speaks quite well, and does so, often.” He paused. “Sometimes to excess.”

“Wonderful,” deadpanned the Judge. “Then would your well-spoken brother care to explain to me why you both felt the need to steal an umbrella from a department store on the eighteenth of June of this year?”

“My brother has a long-standing fear of thunderstorms,” Loki explained smoothly, ignoring the look of outrage that Thor aimed in his direction. “The day in question was terribly rainy, but beyond that, I do not have a clear recollection of the events in question. Sadly,” he affected a small, rueful chuckle, “my memory is quite poor.”

“Well, you’re in luck today,” the Judge replied, sounding enormously pleased with herself, “because one of the things I’m very, very good at is helping people remember things. And if you tell the _truth_ , sir,” her voice grew harsh, “you don’t _have_ to have a good memory. If you lie, you’re always tripping over your own tie.”

Loki’s gaze darkened.

“I am not wearing a tie, madam,” he said tightly.

“Which was one of many mistakes you made before you ate breakfast this morning.”

“He did not eat breakfast, either,” Thor added helpfully.

The Judge’s eyes snapped back over to Thor, who blanched.

“Sir, I want you to listen to me very carefully,” she informed him. “You’re going to keep your mouth shut until I come to you and ask you a question, then you’re going to speak; otherwise Byrd will take you outside until you understand the rules –“

“Your honor, I hardly think that is fair,” Loki tried to interject.

“And _I_ hardly care about what _you_ think is fair or isn’t fair,” she retorted, “because in here, _I’m_ the boss, Applesauce.”

Thor’s jaw dropped in amazement. “You have the Apples of Idunn on _Midgard?"_ Baffled, he turned to Loki, who was cringing beside him. “How is this pos –”

_“Mr. Odinson!”_

Thor’s head swung back over to look at the Judge.

She raised her finger at him. “Last. Chance,” she warned.

“Yes, good lady,” Thor nodded, balking even further.

He inched his way a bit closer to Loki and started anxiously glancing about, looking all around him before tilting his head up and starting to search the ceiling.

Everyone seated in the gallery began to watch Thor with some concern.

“Brother,” he loudly whispered to Loki, “I see no birds.”

“What was that?” the Judge demanded, overhearing them.

Teeth bared, Loki roughly shoved Thor behind him.

“My apologies, your honor,” he said, swiftly re-arranging the expression on his face to something he hoped looked chagrined, “My brother thought you meant an actual bird would eject him from this arena. He did not realize you were,” he smiled at the bailiff, “referring to the surname of you your uniformed lackwit – ahem, _lackey_.”

Still watching the gallery, the bailiff’s smirk only grew wider.

Yes, the man was _undoubtably_ the progeny of Heimdall.

In what came as a surprise to no one, the Judge was unamused by Loki’s wordplay.

“If you want to have a pissing contest with Byrd, Mr. Odinson, then I suggest you take it outside.”

“I do not wish to engage in any sort of contest with Mr. Bryd.”

“Then shut up.”

Loki’s hand fisted, concealing the green zap of magic that was starting to crackle at his fingertips.

Satisfied, the Judge turned to address the plaintiff again.

“Ms. Lewellyn, according to your testimony – Ms. Lewellyn, stop drooling over Mr. Biceps-for-Brains and pay attention. Eyes up here. I know I’m not as nice to look at, but we all have to make sacrifices.”

The sales associate tore her focus away from Thor and obediently turned back to face the bench.

The Judge regarded the young woman for a few moments before the stern set of her mouth curved into a feral smile. Loki recognized this sort of smile, having often seen it reflected back at him in the mirror. He usually wore it during council meetings, right before he was about to decimate the egos of everyone who had the misfortune to be in attendance.

Assuming – wrongly – that she had earned the opportunity to make her way back into the Judge’s good graces, the sales associate smiled hopefully.

“Let’s face it, though,” the Judge’s tone was warm and friendly, “ _no_ one is as nice to look at as he is.”

Beside Loki, Thor was fairly preening.

Loki made a mental note to punch him in the face as soon as they were home.

“But,” the Judge’s voice was starting to develop an edge, “thanks to what must have been the biggest _miracle_ the Earth has seen since Jonah and the whale, you somehow managed to rub two brain cells together and file the court paperwork, and _you’re_ why we’re all here right now. So do yourself a favor and start paying attention before I have you thrown you out of my courtroom.”

The sales associate looked near tears.

Huffing, the Judge continued.

“Ms. Lewellyn, you were let go from your position at Barney’s after the incident on June eighteenth?”

“Yes, your honor?” she answered shakily. “My manager blamed me because I was the only one on the floor when they stole the umbrella?”

“And the umbrella is valued at…” The Judge re-donned her glasses in order to reference the documents. Her eyes landed on a particular section and she let out a half-snorted laugh. “Four thousand, eight hundred dollars. Byrd, have you ever owned an umbrella that cost four thousand, eight hundred dollars?”

“No, Judge.”

She removed her glasses and fixed the sales associate with a piercing look.

“I’m going to give you some free advice, Ms. Lewellyn. If you pay attention, you might one day have hope of winning the lottery. Or at least making your rent. Are you paying attention?”

“Uh-huh?”

“Ms. Lewellyn, you should be grateful you were fired. Spending time with customers willing to pay that much for an umbrella is going to cost you more than a couple of IQ points, and frankly, I don’t think you can spare a single one.”

“Um, well, normally it’s only four hundred bucks? It’s an Om Camo rose stick umbrella, but the one they stole was a bespoke piece commissioned by Tom Cruise?”

The sales associate had regathered enough of her composure to shoot a meaningful glare at the brothers, insinuating that this name should have been of great significance to them.

“Who is Tom Cruise?” Thor looked over at Loki in confusion. “Do we know a Tom Cruise?”

Judge Judy was watching them oddly. “Where did you say you were from again, sir?”

Loki lowered his hand from where he had been pinching the bridge of his nose. “Norway,” he muttered.

She lifted a brow. “You’re telling me you don’t have Tom Cruise in Norway?”

He lifted his own brow and refused to answer.

The feral smile returned.

Loki was angry that he was not the one wearing it.

“I love the truth, Mr. Odinson,” she warned him, “and if you don’t tell me the truth, you’re gonna be eating your shoes.”

“He is wearing boots, not shoes,” Thor protested.

“ _Out_!” bellowed the Judge. She pointed straight to the door and ordered, “Byrd, escort him into the lobby. He can keep the umbrella, he’ll need to sell it to pay for the cognitive upgrade.”

The bailiff started to approach Thor; in his periphery, Loki saw that his brother’s grip on the umbrella was growing white-knuckled.

 _"Leave,_ Thor,” he hissed.

Gods, could this get any worse?

_“You shall not touch the mighty Thor, God of Thunder!”_

Yes. Yes, it could.

The umbrella was gone; Mjolnir had arrived, and everything came to a stop –

Literally.

Loki looked wildly around, both hands still half-lifted in anticipation of a skirmish. His hands slowly dropped and fell back to his sides as he silently took in the scene that now lay before him. 

The entire room was stuck in a standstill. Thor, the bailiff, those in the gallery – everyone was locked in place, as if frozen in time.

Strangely, the plaintiff had vanished completely.

Seidr hung heavy in the air and Loki closed his eyes, forcing himself to calm and trying to find its source of the magic – and to surmise why he was the only one who was spared from the effects of whatever magic was at work.

A muffled laugh came from behind him.

Loki spun on his heel just in time to see the Judge finish transforming herself into a gangly-limbed teenager with short pink hair. Her black robes were gone, replaced by contemporary attire -- JNCO jeans, a striped short-sleeved tee, and a clashing long-sleeved plaid shirt tied around her waist. 

“I can’t believe you didn’t recognize me, _Applesauce_ ,” she admonished.

It was then that Loki finally put a name to the face that was grinning impishly back at him.

Forseti.

The Goddess of Justice. His former betrothed and childhood friend, who had nicknamed him Applesauce after they were caught in Idunn’s orchard as youngsters, having a food fight and generally making a nuisance of themselves. Odin had condemned her to a lifetime of adolescence after she invented the concept of being held in contempt of court and then proceeded to make liberal use of the privilege whenever she found herself bored within the first five minutes of opening arguments.

“ _Seti?_ ” Loki sputtered, finally finding his voice.

She popped her gum, fist-pumped the air, and shouted, “ _Case dismissed!”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Forseti was the God of Justice in Norse mythology. I don’t know if I will continue the Forseti story line or not – this took off in a different direction when I was writing the end and I just went with it. 
> 
> My husband gets 100% of the credit for the inspiration for this chapter.
> 
> A lot of Judge Judy's zingers came from her page on Wikiquotes. 
> 
> Also, I know something's weird with the formatting, but I will fix it later.


End file.
